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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29629512">Generous</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/OkayAristotle/pseuds/OkayAristotle'>OkayAristotle</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DCU (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Collars, Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, Fluff, Foreplay, Gift Giving, Kissing, Lingerie, M/M, Sex Work, Sugar Daddy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:54:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,696</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29629512</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/OkayAristotle/pseuds/OkayAristotle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce buys Jason a gift. Jason repays the favour.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>97</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>BruJay Week 2021</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Generous</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Oh boy this is short lmao and also not my usual. Good to go back to my roots for a little while and write some brujay though.</p><p>For Brujay Week's day one prompt: Sugar Daddy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bike is <em> real </em> nice. Real fuckin' nice. It sits shiny and sleek in the spot reserved just for Jason, scarlet and sexy. Purrs like a dream the one time he'd tested it out. A <em> gift. </em>Bruce had stood next to it about twice as red as the beauty, shoulders a little hunched in his stupid long coat. </p><p>And Jason had felt all stupid strange inside. Warm but like he was full of worms, maybe. Hot compost in his stomach. Yes. It wasn't butterflies. It was something else. He wasn't— </p><p>Bruce was, as far as Jason was concerned, a <em> client. </em> A lovely client. Jason's favourite. But still a client. Jason had his ID on file somewhere, and a background check locked up in a safe in the apartment he called home, partly funded by <em> Bruce.  </em></p><p>Which made him a client. Butterflies didn't happen for those. Even if they were six-foot-sexy and entirely incapable of giving a gift without turning a funny shade. It was cute. Guy had more money than God and still had the balls to look <em> embarrassed </em> dropping a few hundred thousand on a motorcycle. </p><p>Like he didn't spend that much on champagne on occasions. Jason had seen the <em> bills </em> for his get-togethers. Exorbitant didn't begin to cover it. </p><p>But a gift is a gift, and Jason is a polite young man, despite not being raised as such. Counter-gifts are nice, in his opinion. Nevermind that the clothes are paid for by Bruce, on a bed Bruce had bought because he was sick of Jason's old mattress, with a view that Jason had sworn up and down he didn't need until he'd had it. </p><p>This high up, Gotham looked entirely different. All the lights and the tiny, ant-like people down below, bright yellow axis and neon signs flickering away. Sometimes, he could catch a few little shadows sliding across the rooftops, quick and nearly-lethal. Batman and his little bat-kid. </p><p>It was a different experience this high up. A long ways away from where he'd been not too long ago, for most of his life. So, yes, he was going to have the bike — because who wouldn't — but that didn't mean he'd forget how grateful he could be for those things. </p><p>Much like the bike, his outfit is scarlet, a personal favourite. Red lace and red buckle straps and red around his throat, a sleek silver chain pooled down his chest to rest between his spread thighs. He's done this sort of thing a million times before, but waiting in his apartment for the clock to hit ten only makes Jason begin to match his outfit, a flush spreading down his chest. </p><p>Bruce is never late, anyway. Only ever agrees to spending time if he's <em> absolutely </em> sure he can, especially at night. One of Jason's few morning clients, if he's being honest. Which is nice. There's something to be said for a slow, lazy morning fuck followed by breakfast. </p><p>He watches the seconds slide along, checks and re-checks the fit of everything. The collar sits against his throat tightly, straining when he swallows, and the harness around his chest is a comforting amount of pressure, buttery smooth leather he could wear for hours. Thin little lines of fabric and lace work together all the way to his underwear, practically molded to his hips. Little bows line the hem of his stockings, red and vibrant. </p><p>In Jason's professional opinion, it's money well spent, right down to the red cuffs strapped tight to his wrists and ankles, padded on the inside. Comfortable when he isn't tied to a four poster bed in Bruce's fucking <em> mansion, </em> anyway. </p><p>Right on time, a polite knock at the front door. Jason waits, and waits a little more, still on the bed, and then hears the near silent sound of the door swinging open. </p><p>"Jay?" He calls out, tinged with just a little concern. Cute. Jason holds still, and waits, hearing Bruce enter the lounge proper. "Jason?" </p><p>He nearly rolls his eyes. "Not dead." He calls out— which really kills the mood, but so does Bruce getting <em> worried </em> and always being too <em> polite </em> to enter Jason's bedroom without permission. As if he hasn't been in it about a hundred dozen times over the years. </p><p>Sometimes, the respect was nice. A nice change of pace when it was nearly <em> overboard. </em> Felt a little old-fashioned, but well, Bruce could be that way at times. </p><p>Old money, old rules. Whatever. Jason nearly rolled his eyes at the tentative knock on his bedroom door. A little impatient, he shifted on his heels, kneeling on the bed. </p><p>"You're ruining my surprise, Daddy." </p><p>"Am I?" Bruce asks, poking his head in and pausing, mouth parted. Quick as anything, pink tinges his cheekbones, riding up to his hairline. "Oh." </p><p>"Damn right <em> oh." </em> Jason raises both hands in a little motion, almost like he was trying to sell second-hand television sets. Except it was him, and miles of impressive muscle, little straps and leather bringing it all together nicely. Tied with bows at his thighs. </p><p>"What's this for?" He asks. Shuffles into the room and closes the door with wide eyes, turning back to Jason just to… look at his face. He nearly rolls his eyes. "Not that I'm complaining." </p><p>Jason tilts his head, the individual links in his leash clinking against each other. <em> That </em> draws Bruce's attention, light blue eyes sliding down the length of his chest to rest between his thighs, then back up, eyebrows raised. </p><p>"Thank you." He finally murmurs, mouth twitched into a slight smile. </p><p>"Let's just say I'm very grateful," Jason nearly purrs. Leans forward to set his palms flat on the bed. "And I'd like to say thank you." </p><p>"Whatever for?" Bruce flicks his eyes around the room briefly, and then shrugs out of his coat, a crisp white shirt underneath that Jason would like to <em> rip. </em> </p><p>"I can't tell if you're being dense on purpose." Jason replies, a hint of amusement in his voice. Curls his fingers into the comforter, watching Bruce with laser focus as he sets his coat aside. Unbuttons the cuffs of his sleeves, rolling them up his forearms in silence. </p><p>"Mm." Bruce hums. "Not a clue what I've done to deserve this." </p><p>Jason narrows his eyes. "Can we go back to the part where you're surprised about all of this?" </p><p>"Don't get smart." Bruce admonishes, somehow still gentle. He toes out of his slick shoes and heads back to the bed, right in line with Jason, tall enough to <em> loom. </em> His eyes are bright, mouth curved in the kind of smile that would make Jason's knees weak if he wasn't kneeling. Slips a hand into his pocket and just <em> looks.  </em></p><p>Very rarely, if ever, does he feel like meat when Bruce looks at him. Instead it's more like <em> art. </em> Pinned up on a wall in somewhere luxurious, made to be looked at, drank in, murmured conversations about his beauty over sparkling champagne. It all happens in the blue shades of Bruce's eyes, and then just as quickly, it's replaced by warmth. Familiarity. </p><p>"You're so good to me," Bruce finally says, voice pitched low. He sets a knee on the bed, the mattress dipping, and reaches for his belt. Thumbs the buckle for a moment. "Did you like Daddy's gift?" </p><p>Jason grins, half a moan on his lips. "Yes, Daddy." The urge to lean up, crush his mouth to Bruce's, is nearly unbearable, his cock aching between his thighs the longer Bruce draws it out. </p><p>It feels like a physical touch when his fist closes around Jason's leash, winding it around his knuckles. Then, draws him forward, Jason going easy, heat rising on his cheeks. <em> Finally, </em>that belt comes undone, Bruce pulling it apart with one hand. With the other, he tugs Jason up, up, up until they're nose-to-nose. </p><p>This close, he can see all the flecks of steel scattered around his iris. The particular set of his eyebrows, focused on Jason like he doesn't want to miss a thing. It's fucking <em> heady, </em>overwhelming the longer Jason looks back, distracting right up until a hand closes around his, Bruce's fingers broad and warm. </p><p>"Want to touch me, baby?" </p><p>"Yes," he breathes. "Please." Hums right in his throat when Bruce guides his hand into his slacks, pressed flat to the thick outline of his cock, hard and trapped under soft cotton. Jason tightens his grip. </p><p>"And how are you going to say thank you?" Bruce murmurs. A tilt of his eyebrow in amusement. "Or did you think dressing up pretty for me would do it?" </p><p>Jason flashes a grin. Leans forward that little bit further, close enough he can feel Bruce when he exhales at the next squeeze of his hand. Jason twists his wrist, just enough that he can close his fingers around the length of him, stroking steadily. </p><p>"I've got a few things in mind." He says lightly. "Got time?" </p><p>"For you?" Bruce laughs quietly. "All the time in the world, Jay." With a roll of his hips, he grinds into Jason's palm, real power behind the motion. A hint of what he can give, with enough clothes removed and sweet, begging words from Jason's mouth. </p><p>In comparison, his kiss is soft. A brush of lips, the familiar taste of Bruce. A moan in his mouth that he knows well, Jason opening up for him and shivering at the first dip of tongue. Bruce kisses an awful lot like how he looks at Jason — meticulous but appreciative. </p><p>If he could have it all the time, he would. Without question. With a soft sigh, he leans back and lets Bruce follow him onto the sheets, settling onto him with a comforting but entirely trapping weight. </p><p>"I dunno," Jason murmurs, in between breaths and Bruce's mouth crushed to his, "Might actually take all the time in the world." Tentatively, he slips his hand into Bruce's pants proper, circling his fist tight to pump his cock. "It was a pretty nice bike, Daddy." </p><p>Bruce's mouth curves into a smile and kisses him again, hungry and turning hot, making Jason's cock ache where it's still trapped under lace. "Better get started then, baby."</p>
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